Bloody hell I love whisky. It's terrible for me, the process of firing peat (or coal) to malt the barley is apparently carcenogenic - but bloody hell, I love whisky. I love the smells, the colour, reading the labels and most of all - the tastes. So many different types of whisky. Bourbon (some I like), Irish (most I like), Rye (never had one I liked) and Scotch. The differences between sidtilleries is so distinct and batches are striking too.
As I stated earlier in the blog, I went out drinking with the Old Man last Friday to Shebeen. Shebeen is a whisky house behind the Irish Heather and sits between Blood Alley and Gaoler's Mews in the Gastown neighbourhood of Vancouver. My Dad and I drank The Macallan 15 yrs Fine Oak, the Arran 15 yrs Port cask, one I can't quite remember and the The Balvenie 12yrs Doublewood. My Dad and I both fell in love with The Balvenie Doublewood, aged in both sherry and port casks. Basically, if silk were a liquid it would go down like The Balvenie: smoother than smooth. The Macallan and The Balvenie are both Speyside Highland malts and may just be my favourite distilleries so far.
My Dad's not good with names and when he went out to buy The Balvenie DW he got it confused with another distillery that begins with "b" - Bowmore. Radically different whiskys from different areas completely. The Bowmore is a peaty Islay malt and has hints of the seaside Atlantic. My Dad is also adverse to adding water to his whisky which, in Bowmore's case, really defines the flavour and cuts down the initial bite. His wife, a woman who likes her cups, hates it too. So, alas, it falls to me to drink the Bowmore. Just one of life's many hardships, I suppose.